


Don't Let Me Down (Tonight Tonight)

by Grinner_H



Series: 15 a Piece Prompt Challenge [1]
Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6492727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grinner_H/pseuds/Grinner_H
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For her prompt : <i>Akihito is invited to participate in a sushi eating contest (secretly sponsored by Asami). The prize is a year of free sushi and Akihito is expected to win. A surprising last minute addition doesn't appear to be a threat - but is he?</i></p><p>For Prompt #2 - <i>Making History</i> (selected by <b><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida">Ash</a></b> from <b><a href="http://insane-1.deviantart.com/art/200-Writing-Challenge-68163506">200 Writing Challenge</a></b>).</p>
    </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Down (Tonight Tonight)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrincessofTor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessofTor/gifts).



> For her prompt : _Akihito is invited to participate in a sushi eating contest (secretly sponsored by Asami). The prize is a year of free sushi and Akihito is expected to win. A surprising last minute addition doesn't appear to be a threat - but is he?_
> 
> For Prompt #2 - _Making History_ (selected by **[Ash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashida)** from **[200 Writing Challenge](http://insane-1.deviantart.com/art/200-Writing-Challenge-68163506)** ).

So picture this.

An amusement park. A stage in the middle of the vast fairground. Upon it, a long, wooden table covered in white linen. Ten metal chairs by that table. You in one of them.

In front of you, a plastic bottle filled with filtered water. Its cap unsealed. A plastic plate of _nigirizushi._ Two pieces. Salmon. The kind you like. 

Picture the overexcited crowd in steel chairs of their own beneath the sweltering afternoon sun. Picture the master of ceremonies hyping them up. Picture _him_ in the front row, in his immaculate suit, in this infernal heat, smirk slicking up his face like you're some kinda joke only _he_ gets. 

You should've fucking known. Should've _known_ he'd be behind this. Should've known opportunities like this one wouldn't happen without a goddamn catch. You've been through this before. He's fooled you once, and he's fooled you again. 

That fact should bother you. You don't know why it doesn't. 

Picture the way he looks at you. The golden lakes of his eyes all smug and intent and hungry. Like _he's_ the one who's starved himself in anticipation of this moment. 

Picture this like a scene in a movie. Picture it like it's real. 

Because it is.

You sigh. Dramatically. Sit a little straighter in your seat. Brace yourself for the aftermath. 

This is gonna be the longest eight minutes of your life.

—

So it goes like this. 

There's this girl on your left. This dainty slip of a thing with long, blonde curls and the cutest smile you've ever seen. Momohara Ai, she's called. She eats like you - clean and quick. You like her immediately. 

Maybe you'll ask her out when this is over. Because she's pretty. And she seems nice. Because you _like_ girls who aren't afraid to eat. 

Not because you want _his_ attention. Not because you want him to wish it were _him_ by your side instead. 

Next to her is this dude. This too-large, too-fucking-tall geezer with an eyepatch over his right eye. Yuri something. You didn't catch his last name. Maybe you didn't hear it because he doesn't _have_ one. 

Not because you've been too fucking distracted by a certain _other_ too-large, too-fucking-tall guy in the front row who's looking gradually more amused with each passing nanosecond.

But the old guy. He's interesting, that one. Back straight, shoulders rigid. All militarylike. Word has it he's a last minute addition. Wasn't on the list till six minutes before the start of this shebang. Rounding out your numbers to an even ten. Ain't that fucking nice? 

He eats slowly. One hand. A piece at a time. Places it in his mouth. Chews about thirty fucking times before he swallows. Like this is a fucking Sunday picnic instead of a fucking _eating contest._

Whatever. No threat, no competition. 

And you? You've got your headphones on, blaring _This Town_ on repeat. You shovel pieces of rice and fish into your mouth at rapid fire pace. Two minutes in and you've already gone through twenty-three plates. 

So far, so good. 

—

So this is how it all began.

A letter in the mail. A formal invitation to this sushi-eating contest. Accepting the invitation was a no-brainer. You've done this before. Hot dogs, pies, ramen, pizza. Ate three whole turkeys in under an hour once. Your favorite food? _Piece of fucking cake._

But. The _real_ story. 

How it all began? Well, _that_ happened some eight months ago. 

Eight months ago, you met _him._ Asami Ryuuichi. Hotshot president of Asami International. Fucking bane of your existence. 

Dude's been after your ass since you delivered his lunch on some unfortunate wintry Wednesday. You knew he was trouble when his assistant taste-tested his food. Who the fuck taste-tests a fucking _cheese and sun-dried tomato sandwich?_

He was bad news, alright. Right from the moment he laid eyes - and hands - on you. Right when he talked you out of your clothes and your work obligations, and fucked you over his stupid enormous desk; giving a whole new meaning to the term _Hump Day._

Right when he kissed you like he was devouring his dessert and you fell so fucking hard, you were pretty sure you'd never wanna get up again. 

It began like that and it's going like this - his eyes on your face that's covered in sweat and _shari_ grains, looking at you like he's already won the motherfucking prize.

—

So this is when it gets bad. 

Over the din of all that screaming in your ears - _this time I'm not running away_ \- you hear the MC mention something about _four minutes left on the clock,_ and you look up.

Bad fucking idea. Your eyes are immediately drawn to Asami, and you're surprised - _surprised,_ and not _pissed off_ \- to find that he's not alone. 

Seated next to him is Liu Fei Long, president of Asami's rival company, Bái Shé Corp. You don't like how fucking pretty he is. You don't like the way they've got their heads bent toward each other. You don't like the way their lips move in quiet conversation. You don't like the way they both look at you with _very obvious amusement._

They're fucking _laughing at you._

It pisses you off. And, with renewed determination, you take a swig of water like it's your favorite beer, and stuff more sushi into your mouth.

—

So this is when it gets _really_ fucking bad, and it's all that damn geezer's fault. 

Somewhere amid this one-sided glaring contest you're having with Asami (and consequently, Fei Long), a few of the contestants have slowed down. Some of them have stopped eating altogether. 

Well, everyone but Yuri, who's got fifty-seven plates against your sixty-three. You don't know how the fuck _that_ happened, and it pisses you the fuck _off._

So you turn your glare on him, over the top of Ai-chan's golden head, and the bastard has the gall to fucking _smirk_ at you. There isn't even a fucking grain of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth. 

And that's when you snap. You're using two hands now, shoving as many pieces of sushi as you can into your mouth, chipmunking your way through this like your fucking _sanity_ depended on it. 

The guy who's handing you your plates couldn't do it fast enough. Sweat pours off your brows, your nose, your neck. Why the fuck did you have to wear your hooded jacket today? You'd take it off, but you aren't sure how many plates Yuri's gonna put away in the time it takes you to remove it, and it's not a risk you're willing to take. 

Yuri's going two-handed too, dignity be damned. He glares at you like he's willing you to choke. You never knew one eye could say so fucking much.

You empty every drop from your water bottle and crush it noisily. Crush it like it's his fucking neck. Half a minute left and you've only got eyes on him now. 

_Challenge fucking accepted._

—

So it ends. 

It ends with you placing your eighty-ninth plate upon your towering stack of blue-rimmed plastic, just when the countdown's over. It ends when the MC yells, _"Winner, Takaba Akihito!"_

Eighty-nine to eighty-six. _Take that, motherfucker._

Yuri doesn't look pleased. You don't fucking care. 

Asami - official sponsor that he is - is onstage to hand you your prize. A card entitling you to a year's supply of free sushi from 15 East. He's gazing at you with no small amount of self-satisfaction and something else. Could it be _pride?_ Don't you dare think it. Don't you dare _hope._

You pull your headphones off and strut toward him. Look confident. A little cocky. Look like you fucking _own_ this. Ignore the way your stomach's doing crazy backflips. Ignore the strange way he's looking at you.

There's the obligatory photo op. Look him in the eye. Shake his hand. Grin like an arrogant little shit. You don't know what he and Fei Long were laughing about earlier, but you showed them, alright. You got this. You _got_ this.

You smile. You reach for the card. And then you throw up, all over the tops of his fucking pristine leather shoes. 

—

So picture this.

You on the edge of the couch in your tiny apartment, head bowed and groaning miserably. You looking - and _feeling_ \- the most pathetic you've ever been.

Asami nudges you on the shoulder with something cold. You look up to see him offering you a can of orange juice.

You sigh and accept it. But you don't drink. Your thoughts are going crazy. _Why did he follow me home? How am I gonna make it up to him? How many paychecks will it take to pay for his fucking shoes? This is so fucking humiliating._

He's still standing over you, like he's expecting something. Expecting _what,_ exactly? An apology? A kiss? A fucking _blow job?_

You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye. So you stare at the floor. Stare at his bare feet. You sigh again. Pained. Melodramatic. "Guess I owe you some new shoes."

Did he just fucking _snicker?_

"You owe me some pants too. Among other things."

 _Fucking **bastard.**_ You can't believe he thinks this is fucking funny. You glare up at him. You seem to be doing a lot of that today. "What the fuck are you _talking_ about?"

Asami smiles, this wicked, wicked thing. You don't like how it makes you feel hot all over. In that good way. In that _gotta fuck you right now_ kind of way. _Stop it._ Don't even _go_ there.

"We made a bet, y'know. Fei Long and I. I bet that you would win."

"I _did_ win," you counter indignantly. You hate how childish that sounds. Hate that you care so much what he thinks.

Asami only smirks. He seems to be doing a lot of that today too. "He bet on Yuri. That he would win by default. Rather, that you would lose by disqualification. Through your, ah, _reversal of fortune._ "

You shoot him the dirtiest glare you can muster. Then, a thought occurs to you. "What did you bet?" Keep your expression neutral. Like you don't really care. Like you don't really want to know.

The look Asami gives you is deadly serious. "Our companies' profits. _All_ of it."

Your jaw falls open in shock. _"What."_ So much for nonchalance. So much for _I don't give a fuck._

Asami stares at you as if you're an idiot. "I am merely joking, Akihito."

You don't like the way he rolls his eyes at you without _actually_ rolling them. You don't like how he says your name like it's the sexiest sound in all the world. You don't like that you're half-hard when he hasn't even _touched_ you. _Yet._

So you growl at him. "I don't know what you lost, and I don't fucking care." _Liar._ You hate that he could've lost something important because of you. You hate the thought that you let him down. Don't show it. Don't let him see it. "All I know is, I can't fucking afford it, alright? So give me a damn break." 

He should be mad. He _deserves_ to be. But his eyes only glitter with amusement, and that stuns you. 

Asami grabs you by your collar and yanks you to your feet, pressing your body against his. "You owe me a huge debt, Akihito. And I intend to start collecting. Right now."

He pulls you closer, lips hovering over yours. Then, he hesitates. Smirks like the goddamn _bastard_ he is. "You _did_ brush your teeth, didn't you?"

You can't _believe_ this guy. You don't know what to do right now. About him. _With_ him. All you want is for him to fucking _kiss you already._ So you laugh, incredulous, because that's all that you can manage. "Only about eight million times."

So picture this. Asami smiling. He's _smiling,_ this genuine thing that looks like hilarity and fondness and fucking _pride._ And he's pressing that smile against yours like he's fallen so fucking hard, he can't help dragging you down with him.

Picture it like it's a scene straight out of a cheesy chick flick. Picture it like it's real fucking _life._

Because it is. 

Picture it and kiss him right the fuck back. 'Cause, whaddaya know? Losin' ain't so fuckin' bad after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Go On Ahead](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6774970) by [CaptainTsukiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainTsukiko/pseuds/CaptainTsukiko)




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